It was pleasant for a summer night, not too chilly, not suffocating in that way summer nights tend to be.
Northumbria tends to be a grim old place, so this warmth was rather odd. Odd, but most certainly appreciated.
The only thing I needed to do after that abysmal, grueling day was to settle down into bed.
I brushed my teeth, I donned my *tunic of sound sleep*, and let the covers rustle as I wormed my way in.
A brief pause, then, after all that time, I finally mananged to drift off...

A rapping on my window, and in all it's tried and tested glory, it came from outside, with my bedroom being on the second floor.
Bloody hell, I'm awake, with some spectre doing God-knows-what.

I burrowed my way out, and trudged to the aformentioned window. A figure was beckoning me out. A vague one, too.
Oh whatever, a night walk would do me good, I thought. I paced downstairs, donned my nightgown and slippers, remembered the front door key,
and fumbled with that infernal contraption they named "the front door lock".
Upon opening the door, I managed to see the figure a little more clearly:
Horns, hooves, and what appeared to be a beard.
Oh thank the heavens, this was most likely a dream.

The figure moved away, I began my persuit, an arduous one at that. It seemed to almost glide across the uneven terrain, hopping along each little hill and hillock.
Of course, I was yet to master this technique, and had to make do with awkwardly stumbling over tuffets, rocks, and sheep dung. I swear I heard the bastard
chuckle over this. Why don't you try walking the ordinary way, then? See how you feel about being dragged out of the warmest, softest bed in
the county to wherever in these barren hills you're taking me.
I still felt I had to trudge on, I didn't have anything better to do, this was a dream after all, and the alternative was waking up in
the middle of the night, bleary-eyed and with the abillity to drain Ullswater, only to then dream about Ms MacDonald chewing me out for my
maths homework, *yet again*. 

Crunch, crack, creak. I settled into a nice rhythm, felt nice to almost hike again. Looks like I was being lead towards Hadrian's wall.
Figures. A greco-roman character, and a roman wall. I saw that old sycamore tree. He was standing under it. Honestly, looking back,
it was beautiful, even picturesque, dare I say.
The tree shrouded in shadow, the stars twinkling, it was like something you'd see some artist spend weeks on.
I made my last few steps forward, and was greeted with "Evening, Richard". Blighter knew my name. "Well, it's a little past evening, isn't it?"
He smiled, "Come closer, it's been a while since I had a nice chat with a mortal." I obliged, seemed like a pleasant-enough figure.

"Well, why drag me all the way out here, in the middle of the night?"
"The view, a lot of people take their surroundings for granted." He stretched. "Maybe it's also because I feel like you're good for something."
My face furrowed, "Good for what?" "Let's not get into that right now. How about we talk about your day instead?" He plopped down beneath the tree,
while I let out a grown, groan a la teenager, "Awful, simply awful." "I'm grinding away at the same bloody computer for hours on end, entering in rows upon
rows of crap into a spreadsheet when I know for a fact a computer could do my occupation far better, far more efficiently, and yet our IT department refuses
to take the crayons out of their ears in order to salvage me from that hellhole."
"Sounds rough." I didn't know if that was smarminess, or understanding, hard to tell in the low light. "Hopefully you appreciated a bit of a night walk to clear
your head?" "Honestly, yes." This grin, where did it come from? It clearly wasn't mine. He must have dropped it. "Have you ever thought about leaving?"
"Heavens no, I'd starve!" I replied, giving the grin back to it's rightful owner. "Then... why exactly are you living *here?*"
I struggled for a response, a glancing blow on my worldview.
He continued, however, "think about it, plenty of ariable farmland, a nice easy way of getting food, and you're caged in a cubicle for a tax return
agency slowly letting your mind rot."
"It's my grandfather's place." Well, that came out meeker than I expected, not entirely on subject, too. "I understand where you're going with this,
but that's a risk, and I don't like risks."
"Well, why not?", he smiled, positively begging for an answer. I defended, "I don't like the prospect of sitting in a cardboard box in Newcastle
for the rest of my life while politicians call my misfortune a 'lifestyle choice'." Success, or so I believed. He lunged for that point with presicion,
"Couldn't you start by using some of the money from your occupation? Surely you can simply test the waters before committing, right?" Critical hit. I reeled.
"Yes. I could."

I realised I was arguing with a being about 2000 years more experienced with me. Great going, Rich, really showing you'd be as quick-witted as those protagonists
in those silly stories you read. I sighed. "Alright, you have my attention, you mentioned about being 'good for something', what were you talking about?"
"Well, we can start with the farm, first. I'll come back after you get everything sorted, and explain a little more."
A vague-speaking mentor character, how trite. Still, I could do with something else to do when I'm not working.
"Alright, where should I start?" I asked.
"R. Emley's. They've got some amazing supplies. They're south, near Walsby Green"
"I make no promises, but since my day off's tomorrow, I could pay a visit."
He held out his hand, "See you tomorrow night, then?" "I'll shake on that," and so I did.
He said he had nothing more to say, so, I trudged back to my house, slowly realising that I may have just made a pact with a Faerie god.

Regardless, I fumbled around with the Cursed Apperatus, flung my slippers and dressing gown off, and crashed in the manner of a mighty felled redwood in the direction
of my bed.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.